Scenting Hallowed Blood (23 page)

‘He is on his way,’ Enniel
said.

‘Good.’

There was a moment’s silence,
then Enniel leaned back against his desk and said, ‘I would like to
talk to you alone.’

Shemyaza nodded. ‘As you
wish.’

Enniel smiled at Aninka and
Lahash. ‘You have done well,’ he said. ‘We shall talk in the
morning.’ A more curt dismissal was difficult to imagine.

Aninka directed one last,
burning glance at Shemyaza before uttering a chilled ‘good
night’.

‘Take Shemyaza’s companion with
you,’ Enniel said. ‘Rooms have been prepared. My staff will take
you to them.’

‘Do you want me to stay here
with you?’ Emma asked Shem.

He laid a hand over her own and
shook his head. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.’

Enniel waited until the three
of them had left the room, then picked up the brandy decanter and
sauntered over to the couch. Shem held out his glass for a
refill.

‘I find it hard to believe you
are here,’ Enniel said. ‘Are you really what everyone thinks you
are?’

‘You see what looks like a
man,’ Shem answered, ‘as do I whenever I look in a mirror. The
answer is: I don’t know. It’s cosy to think there is an explanation
— and perhaps a tenuous justification — for the way I behaved as
Peverel Othman. Memories of being burned alive are more vivid to me
than, for example, those of making love to your charming ward,
Aninka.’ He raised one eyebrow and shrugged. ‘But nothing is really
clear to me. I feel as if I’ve been hypnotised or brainwashed. It’s
as if other people have forced me to be what I am, to fulfil their
own fantasies and yearnings.’

‘I appreciate your honesty,’
Enniel said.

Shem could tell Enniel was
surprised at how communicative he was being. What had he expected?
A confrontation of wizards, complete with bolts of purple light and
threatening incantations?

‘What are your plans?’ Enniel
asked.

Shem gave him a dry glance.
‘You mean I have a choice?’ He smiled. ‘I have no plans. You tell
me what you’d like me to do.’ He made it quite clear from his tone
there was no guarantee he’d fulfil those wishes.

Enniel moved away from him.
‘Let me explain what I think you are.’

‘Please do. It will interest me
greatly.’

Enniel leaned back against his
desk, his hands gripping its polished edge. He seemed to be at
ease, but the way his knuckles pushed against the taut skin of his
hands betrayed his tension. ‘Shemyaza is an archetype of our
people, our progenitor, our beloved king, our long-awaited Messiah,
and also our dark lord. How can you really have come back to us? Is
this possible?’ Enniel raised his arms, pulled a quizzical face.
‘Rationally, it does not seem likely. Did Shemyaza’s soul really
hang in the constellation of Orion awaiting the reawakening? Or was
that just a metaphor for the hopes and fears of our people? I have
always thought the latter. Then, I am told of your Second Coming.
People above me, of greater experience and knowledge, believe in it
passionately. Who am I to refute their heartfelt claims? Shemyaza
is among us in flesh, they said. I naturally balked at such a
belief. They told me of Peverel Othman, an amoral monster who
murdered and played with the hearts and souls of others. Peverel
Othman is the sleeping form of Shemyaza, they said. Again, this
sounded like fantasy. Very soon afterwards, I listened to the
pitiful outpourings of my
“
charming
ward,
”
as you refer to her. I heard all
the sordid details of your activities. Was this evidence to support
the claims of my elders? I did not think so. I did not want to
think so. I wanted to believe you were simply Anakim; a force that
should be culled. But I followed orders, as I am used to doing. If
Lahash and his colleagues had been successful in finding you there,
you would have been brought here a lot earlier, which might have
been better for everyone concerned. However, this was not to be.
Then I was told of the events that took place in Little Moor. The
Parzupheim had psychically scoured the whole area, and scooped up
the residue of your little ritual. I know what you did there, and
also what you tried to do. You attempted to open the stargate by
force, using your beloved vizier, Daniel, as bait for the demon of
falsehood — Ahriman. Hearing of these things, I am half convinced,
against my will, of what you are supposed to be. And yet, I see you
sitting there, and you are tired and anxious, no matter how much
you try to hide it. Would the great Shemyaza suffer such mortal
frailties? You are frightened and confused. Shemyaza has been
burning alive among the stars for millennia. Having endured such
torment, surely fear is unknown to him. So, are you merely Peverel
Othman; Anakim?’ Enniel paused and shook his head. ‘I don’t think
you are. You are more than that. I can see it in your eyes, beyond
your weariness and confusion. So how can this be? How can legends
be made flesh?’

He waited for an answer. Shem
shrugged. ‘You tell me.’

Enniel smiled. ‘Maybe we have
made
you happen. Maybe the collective desires of humanity
and Grigori have forged you into being, and Peverel Othman was the
suitable scapegoat for this wish fulfilment. He was the outcast,
the Anakim, the destroyer. He offered up what was dearest to him,
the sacrificial son, and some blithe angel somewhere intervened. My
sources tell me it was a goddess, the memory of your lost love,
Ishtahar. But Ishtahar no longer wears flesh, whereas Daniel lives
and you need him for your work. Somehow, in Little Moor, Othman was
transformed into a being of light and love. If we suppose, for now,
that these assumptions are correct, where do we go from here?’

Shem snickered into the silence
that followed Enniel’s words. He was conscious of the beat of his
heart, the wings of fear beginning to flutter within the
blood-bound cage of his ribs. He felt that Daniel should be here to
speak for him now, with his determination to believe in wondrous
possibilities. At one time, he had been prepared to sacrifice the
boy, but Daniel believed in the reality of Shemyaza, as an ideal,
and had forgiven him for the deeds of Peverel Othman. Shem felt
wrung of words. His fingers passed nervously across his dry lips,
and he said again. ‘You tell me.’

‘One would suppose the
knowledge would reside within yourself.’

‘The knowledge of what?’
Enniel’s words held a disturbing echo of certain things Ishtahar
had told Shem in his dream of her.

‘Your purpose. You are supposed
to be the saviour of the world. Don’t you know what it needs?’

Shem shook his head. ‘I’m not
playing with you, Enniel. This is not a game to me. Don’t believe
I’m possessed of ultimate knowledge and being coy with you about
it. I don’t know what my purpose is, or even if I have one. The
thought of it is all too exhausting. You want me to work some
magic? Heal the world? Stop war and famine? Make people
like
one another? Shall I create a world of women to rid the planet of
aggression? Tell me how to do it.’ He laughed coldly. ‘I don’t know
what’s happened to me. I remember the life of Shemyaza, his loves,
his hates, his torments and ambitions. It seems real to me, but
it’s so far away, so tiny. It’s irrelevant now, like someone
remembering their childhood, and acting upon long forgotten
conflicts and fears. The life in between has been sucked out, and
surely that is what is important.’

‘They say the personality is
forged in childhood,’ Enniel said.

Shem turned his eyes briefly
towards the ceiling in exasperation. ‘I know you people won’t leave
me alone. I also know that others want a piece of me too. There is
no escape for me, that is obvious. But I cannot comply with you,
because I have no faith in your beliefs. If I truly am Shemyaza,
then I am a bitter husk, a man who was murdered for daring to love
and to teach. I have brought all that anger with me into this time,
all that resentment for what was done to me. Why should I help you,
or anyone? No-one dared to help me. My soul has been imprisoned for
millennia, quietly going mad out there among the stars. What
possible incentive do I have for helping you now? Altruism?’ He
sneered. ‘I don’t care.’

‘Ishtahar,’ Enniel said,
slipping the word into Shem’s consciousness like a knife.

Shem felt himself wince as the
blade turned. He dropped his eyes. ‘A human woman, long dead. I
have created illusions of her that have even spoken to me, but they
all came from my own head. Through her image, I speak to myself.’
He pulled his mouth down into a grimace, and nodded. ‘True, that
part of myself talks about love and creation, but it is only a
small part. It barely breaks out of my dreams.’

‘In dreams, the soul speaks
most freely,’ Enniel said.

‘You speak in platitudes and
clichés,’ Shem answered sharply. ‘Spare me that. I don’t think you
believe in it any more than I do.’ He shook his head. ‘I think you
all want me to be the scapegoat, to fall from the highest cliff and
atone for your sins. You all want to kill me again, make me a
sacrificial king. But unless the king believes in the power of
redemption in his death, it can’t work, and I refuse,
refuse,
to be a part of that.’ He held out his empty brandy
glass. ‘I would appreciate a refill.’

Enniel complied with this
request in silence, then said, ‘Others will speak to you over the
next few days.’

‘They can speak as much as they
like!’

‘I understand the way you
feel.’

Shem stared at him in a cool
fury. ‘I cannot believe you dared to say that. Understand how I
feel? I wish you did!’

‘I’m sorry.’

Shem saw that the apology was
genuine. He made a careless gesture. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Would you like to sleep now?’
Enniel glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost dawn.’

Shem guessed that Enniel had
had enough of him for now. ‘Yes. I would like to rest. Please keep
everyone away from me, including my assistant, Ms Manden. The only
person I want to see is Daniel Cranton.’

‘As you wish.’ Enniel rang for
his bottelier, Austin, who came in looking half asleep.

Shem smiled to think of what
must be going on below stairs in this grand establishment at
present; the assumptions, rumours and gossip. People had been kept
up all night for him. Cars arriving in the middle of the night.
Hushed private interviews.

Enniel gestured towards the
door. ‘Austin will show you to the rooms we’ve made ready for you.
You’ll find everything you need in there. We’ll leave you
undisturbed until one o’clock tomorrow.’

After Enniel had dismissed them
from his study, and Emma had been taken to her room, Lahash and
Aninka stood in the corridor outside the suites they’d been given.
Aninka guessed that Lahash wanted her to invite him into her room,
but she didn’t feel like conversation, never mind anything else.
Her mind and heart were numb. She couldn’t help thinking that the
man who had accompanied them from London was Peverel Othman,
despite what everyone said about who and what he had become. He had
looked like Pev to her, down to the heart-breakingly familiar
mannerisms. He had looked as beautiful as she remembered him, yet
he had all but forgotten her.

Lahash reached out and squeezed
her arm. ‘Are you all right?’

She saw the concern in his eyes
and felt irritated by it. ‘Yes. I’m just tired.’

‘But it must have felt...
disturbing to see him tonight.’

Aninka ran a hand through her
hair. ‘I really don’t want to talk about it now.’

‘That’s OK,’ Lahash said
softly.

Don’t humour me!
Aninka
thought.

Lahash rubbed his neck. ‘I
couldn’t have taken him if he hadn’t wanted to come. We didn’t have
to persuade him. He’d already made up his mind.’

‘I had nothing to do with
that.’

‘I know.’

Aninka turned away, put her
hand upon the door-knob to her room. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’

Lahash made an anguished noise.
‘I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to...’ He paused. ‘You’re still in love
with him.’

Aninka laughed harshly, opened
the door to her room. ‘In love with the memory of a man who didn’t
even exist. Pointless.’ A surge of anger threshed through her. ‘I
like you, Lahash. I find you attractive. Yet I look at you beside
him, and you are like a pinprick of light to his sun. That is the
legacy of having loved him.’ She could have continued, but
realisation of the cruelty of her words stemmed the anger.

‘One cannot gaze at the sun too
long, remember,’ Lahash said bitterly. He opened the door to his
room and went inside.

‘Lahash!’ Aninka clawed her
head, stared at his closed door. ‘Damn!’ She considered for a
moment, going after him then abandoned the impulse. She had meant
what she said, although she knew that Lahash would take her
rejection to heart. She had sacrificed a potential relationship for
the sake of a dream that could never be real.

Grey dawn was breaking in the eastern
sky as Taziel’s hired car turned onto the gravel drive of High
Crag. Daniel had dozed against Taziel’s side for most of the latter
stages of their journey, but after the horrors of the night flight,
Taziel had been unable to close his eyes. Whenever he dropped off,
he saw hideous, white-haired figures clawing at the windows of the
car or peeling open the roof as if it were a flimsy tin can.

High Crag was magnificent
against the paling sky, its forest of chimneys rearing like a crown
above its frowning eaves. Taziel roused Daniel. ‘Wake up. We’re
here.’

Daniel rubbed his face and
yawned, turned to peer out of the window. ‘Wow! It’s a stately
home!’ He smiled at Taziel. ‘Like Long Eden back... back home.’

Taziel noted with concern
Daniel’s pale face, the dark circles beneath his eyes. ‘Just like
Long Eden,’ he said. ‘Both of them are Grigori haunts.’